


Season of Change

by Bryonia_Alba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Offscreen character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 20:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10771566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bryonia_Alba/pseuds/Bryonia_Alba
Summary: The war is on and an angry Draco's been taken in by the Order on Snape's command.  Making matters worse, he's then given to Neville to babysit in the greenhouse.





	Season of Change

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a 2007 round of slashfest. The prompt was _Post HBP. The war is on and an angry/confused Draco's been taken in by the Order on Snape's command. And then given to Neville to babysit in the greenhouse since no one trusts him and they all figure Neville really doesn't do much in there anyway (which isn't true, just an assumption). No stuttering Neville; he's not completely confident, just more aware that there are bigger things out there than Draco Malfoy. Gradually, they get together, teaching each other various things along the way. Happy ending, please. Any rating is fine._

Draco tugged the folds of his grey cloak more closely around his shivering frame, trying to ignore the fact that Snape was gripping his shoulder harder than necessary as the former professor guided him through the shadowed foyer of Grimmauld Place. He could hear other voices, growing louder as they moved deeper into the dilapidated house of his mother’s ancestors. He wondered if his mother had found the place as depressing as he did.

“This way,” Snape said brusquely, the grip on Draco’s shoulder shifting, nudging him in the proper direction.

It was the last straw. Draco had been led, prodded, nudged and directed for hours on end, and now that they had at last reached a destination of some sort he’d had enough. Shaking off Snape’s hand, he turned and snarled, “I can walk there by myself. You don’t need to hold my hand like – like some scared _child_.”

A muscle twitched in Snape’s cheek, but he only nodded once. “So be it. Walk.”

Lifting his chin, Draco turned away from those impassive black eyes and walked, step by measured step toward the source of the voices. Someone laughingly called out, “Ron, give that _back_!” and he tried not to wince. Snape had brought him to a place where a Weasley was present. Considering the size of that clan, probably more than one. The thought did nothing to cheer Draco’s already dark mood. He still had no idea why Snape had brought him here. He certainly hadn’t bothered to answer any of Draco’s questions.

Snape pushed open a door, urging him into a room filled with heat and life and laughter, three things Draco hadn’t known ever since that night on Astronomy Tower. He looked around, mentally noting everyone present: no fewer than five redheaded Weasleys, along with Potter and Granger. He also recognised Professor Lupin from third year, the one who resigned once the fact of his lycanthropy became common knowledge. They all looked up as he and Snape entered, and the laughter died away.

“What are _they_ doing here?” Potter leaped from his chair, hand diving for his wand, only to be restrained by Lupin. “Lemme go! Professor Dumbledore’s _dead_ because of them!”

“Harry,” Lupin said, shoving him back into his chair, where he joined Granger and the Weasel in glaring daggers his way. “Sit. Down. They wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe they were innocent.”

“He spoke with me and used Veritaserum from my private stores,” Snape said coldly, “at my suggestion. Despite what you may have seen or heard that night, I did not murder Dumbledore in cold blood. However, young Malfoy’s life is in grave danger due to his poor decision-making, and until the Dark Lord is defeated I thought it best if he disappeared for awhile. He will be safe here, if you agree to take him off my hands. I can no longer guarantee his safety.”

Draco spun to look at him, eyes wide. “You’re _leaving_ me here? You can’t do that? They’ll kill me!”

“You will cease your theatrics this instant,” Snape replied, his tone gone from merely cold to icy. “If you wish to see the end of this war alive, this is the safest place for you to stay. The location is Unplottable and further concealed with a Fidelius Charm. No one will find you.” He looked up at Lupin. “Assuming you have room for him, of course.”

“There’s room,” Lupin replied. “Molly, would you be so kind as to get something hot into Mr Malfoy’s stomach, and perhaps into some dry clothes? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind an opportunity to stop shivering in the doorway. I need to speak with Severus privately for a moment.”

A short, plump woman broke away from the red-haired pack, taking Draco by the arm and leading him away from the doorway. “You just sit down right here at the table while I reheat dinner. I hope you like roast chicken; we tend to keep things simple around here.”

Draco opened his mouth, intending to tell the Weasley breeder he wasn’t hungry, but the mere mention of roast chicken made his stomach growl loud enough for the entire room to hear. He gritted his teeth, kept his silence, and sat down at the table. 

Potter got up, along with Weasel, the Mudblood, the Weaslette, and the Terror Twins, effectively decimating the number of redheads in the room. “We’re going to the library,” he said, pointedly not looking at Draco. He left, his retinue trailing behind him.

Mrs Weasley set a plate before Draco, looking apologetic. “He’s been moody ever since Dumbledore died,” she said. “We have milk and butterbeer. Do you have a preference?”

Draco wanted to snap that he wanted wine, but Mrs Weasley so far had been the only one to have shown any kindness since his arrival. “I’d like a butterbeer, please,” he replied. She smiled and stepped back.

Snape and Lupin were still standing in the doorway, conferring in low tones. It sounded as though they had reached some sort of agreement, because Snape swooped down on him soon after. Leaning down, he said, “Lupin has agreed to let you stay. You are not to leave this house for any reason. There will be a bedroom prepared for you. I’ll send what belongings of yours I can safely part with when I can.”

“You’ll come back for me, though, won’t you?” Draco asked, alarmed. “I won’t be here forever, will I?”

Snape ignored him. “You will do whatever Lupin tells you. Hopefully, you’ll listen to him better than you listened to me, for your sake.”

Draco watched him leave, stunned to silence. 

Lupin joined him a few minutes later. “I know the place appears dreary now, but it’s actually improved over the past couple of years. There aren’t any more doxies or boggarts lurking about. Don’t disturb the black curtain in the entryway if you don’t want your great-aunt shrieking the house down. There are people coming and going at all hours, but you shouldn’t have any problem staying out of the way. I figured you could help Neville with his greenhouse.”

“Longbottom’s here too?” Draco asked, horrified. Next he’d find out he had to share his bedroom with a Hufflepuff!

“Neville is spending the summer with us, yes,” Lupin replied, unperturbed. “He’s quiet; we almost never see him outside of mealtimes. I’m sure he’d be grateful for the assistance.”

_If not the company_. Draco knew Longbottom would be as pleased to see him as Potter and the others had been. He stared sullenly at his plate, wondering if things could possibly get any worse than they were now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

He got a bedroom of his own, as it turned out. Draco turned in early, some part of him still hoping the past few weeks had been a bad dream, and awoke to discover things hadn’t changed at all.

Draco spent most of the following morning wandering through the house, exploring empty rooms and avoiding Lupin whenever possible. It was well past lunchtime before boredom drove him to the greenhouse. Hesitating just inside the entrance, he blinked at the explosion of light and colour, so different from the gloom of the rest of the house. He didn’t want to admit it, but Longbottom hadn’t done badly, carving a bright, peaceful niche in the midst of such dreariness.

Then again, anyone could have done the same, he reminded himself. Herbology was for Hufflepuffs and near-Squibs to make them look good. It wasn’t a specialty for _real_ wizards, not like Transfiguration or Arithmancy, two courses in which he’d excelled before everything had gone pear-shaped. Given enough time and inclination he could have restored this space just as nicely. He wondered if Longbottom was doing this from a similar boredom.

The space seemed empty of people, so Draco entered the greenhouse, choosing an aisle at random to explore, pulling out his wand and holding it before him. He had no idea exactly what types of plants Longbottom had chosen to bring here and had no desire to be attacked by a Venomous Tentacula seedling or a fanged geranium. They’d make an interesting line of defence though, he thought, pushing an inquisitive tendril of some plant he didn’t recognise out of the way. 

Nothing attacked him. Feeling somewhat bolder, Draco finished his perusal of the first aisle, turned into the second, and collided with Neville Longbottom.

“Watch where you’re going!” Draco snapped, shoving himself away from the other boy and straightening his robes, brushing off the dirt transferred there from the terra cotta pot in Longbottom’s hands. He was surprised he hadn’t dropped it and fled.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” Neville said, holding the flowerpot before him like a shield. “I was, um, I was repotting the larkspurs and they can get kind of loud, and…” He trailed off, just looking at Draco for a moment. “Um, what are you doing here?”

“Professor Snape dumped me here,” Draco replied, startled by Neville’s unexpectedly direct question into an honest answer. “I arrived last night. Lupin thinks I should help you out.” Remembering himself, he let his gaze wander disdainfully around the greenhouse. “As though I’d want to spend all my time digging in the dirt.”

“Nobody’s forcing you.” Neville set down the flowerpot and bent, peering at one of the shelves situated below the display tables. Reaching for a watering can, he pulled out his wand, murmured “ _Aguamenti_ ,” and filled it. Hoisting it easily, he began watering the pinstriped petunias, effectively dismissing Draco’s presence.

This couldn’t be the Neville Longbottom he knew from school, Draco thought, watching him calmly water the plants. The Longbottom he knew squeaked in fright whenever he and Draco so much as crossed glances, anticipating a prank hex or jinx of some kind, or paled whenever anyone asked him a direct question.

Speaking of…

“So why are you here?” he asked, lip curling. He tucked away his wand, since Longbottom was completely harmless. “I thought you already had a home.”

Neville’s hands wavered slightly, but he didn’t look up from his watering. “Remus says I’ll be safer here. From what, I don’t know. Nobody will tell me why I’m supposedly in danger.”

“Somebody thinks the Dark Lord wants to kill _you_?” Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That’s rubbish. At least I know he wants me dead!”

Neville made a noncommittal sound in his throat and continued watering. 

Draco watched him work, trying to understand how Longbottom could behave with such complacency. The only explanation he could think of was that there wasn’t any real danger to the Gryffindor’s life and he had to be here for another reason entirely.

“If I was brought here for no reason, I’d at least like to know why,” he said. “I’d demand it.”

Emptying the last few drops of water onto the petunias, Neville refilled it once more with his wand and moved a few steps further down the aisle. Draco noticed he walked with a slight limp, probably from tripping over a trowel or something.

“Did you fall out of bed this morning?” he asked nastily. “Or do you even know you’re limping?”

Carefully, Neville set down the watering can before turning to look Draco in the eye. “I’m limping because of those Death Eaters _you_ let onto school grounds,” he said, biting off each word. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find something to eat. Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”

Draco watched him go, speechless.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco wasn’t quite sure which was worse: being hunted by people who wanted him dead, or staying with people who made it clear his presence wasn’t wanted. He was alive, yes; but the bleak environs of Grimmauld Place combined with the enforced solitude increasingly made him feel like some sort of ghost.

It wasn’t that Remus or Neville were rude or unkind to him. Remus always spoke pleasantly to him whenever their paths crossed, usually either in the library or kitchen. However, it was the courtesy of host to guest, nothing more; and Remus usually excused himself after only a few moments of conversation.

He didn’t see Neville at all after the first day. Apparently, he spent every waking moment in his precious greenhouse, potting and pruning and watering and watching things grow. He probably slept there as well, for all Draco knew, if only because he was too afraid to creep through the darkened house at night.

Draco found himself standing outside the greenhouse a little over a week later. Not from boredom or loneliness, he told himself, but because he missed the brightness that made the greenhouse seem like another world, completely separate from the dim rooms and peeling walls of the rest of the house. He figured Neville would at least tolerate his presence, so long as he didn’t touch anything. He could even pretend to friendliness if that was what it took. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys could always make the best of a bad situation.

Neville looked up, his expression guarded, as Draco sauntered inside, looking around as though he owned the place and Neville was in his employ. He glanced at the basket hanging from Neville’s arm and the variety of leaves and flowers inside. “That must be one hell of a salad you’re planning to toss,” he said. 

“Not a salad,” Neville muttered, picking another leaf and placing it in the basket. 

Sidling further inside, Draco peered into the basket and lifted an eyebrow. “These look like the plant ingredients for a Euphoria Elixir,” he noted. “God knows I’m nearly desperate enough for one. You’re not going to try to brew that yourself, are you? I don’t think there are enough cauldrons in the house to waste.”

“I got an Acceptable on my Potions OWL,” Neville muttered, his cheeks reddening. “I can make anything I want now that I don’t have to worry about Snape breathing down my neck. And I haven’t melted a cauldron since fourth year.”

“You’re really going to brew a Euphoria Elixir?” Draco asked, curiosity piqued in spite of himself. “That’s a really complicated potion, NEWT-level. You didn’t take Potions past your OWL year.”

Neville sighed and looked up from his harvesting. “I’m not making a Euphoria Elixir,” he said. “These are for something else.”

“No need to get shirty with me,” Draco sniffed. “I was only asking a question. Maybe I – maybe I could help. There’s nothing else to do around here.”

Neville looked at him, then, really _looked_ at him, eyes boring into Draco’s as though trying to peer into every shadowed corner of his soul. Draco lifted his chin and stared back, hiding his disconcertedness. Neville, to his knowledge, had never looked anyone in the eye before, preferring sidelong glances or outright staring at his shoes to directness. He had nice eyes, a deep, soft brown framed with long lashes.

Draco looked away, confused. Who the hell cared whether or not Longbottom had nice eyes?

“All right,” Neville said at last. “Grab a basket. I’ll make a copy of the list so you’ll know what I need.”

~*~*~*~*~*

The next few weeks passed in relative harmony. Draco showed up at the greenhouse each morning, always after Neville, and did whatever Neville told him to do. He wasn’t bossy or overbearing about it, instead asking almost shyly whether or not Draco would water the moonmint or pick a handful of Prickly Pansies. They’d work in near-silence, rarely speaking unless it was to direct or clarify.

Seeing Neville at work, moving about with confidence and competence, was an entirely new experience for Draco. Herbology hadn’t been a class Slytherin had shared with Gryffindor, and Draco had never seen him work with such ease, whether it was taming a glassflower vine, calming an agitated flutterby bush, or picking the petals of a firerose without getting burned. It was the complete opposite of what he’d witnessed in Potions class. He even looked more relaxed, sometimes humming under his breath while he worked.

No wonder Draco never saw him anywhere else.

“Do you _live_ here?” Draco asked one morning, once again arriving to find Neville already at work repotting the pink violets, coaxing the notoriously shy blooms out of hiding from beneath their foliage and smiling when they blushed an even deeper shade of pink at his praise.

“I’m a morning person,” Neville replied, reaching for the next pot, “and I don’t mind working late.”

“You’re making the rest of us look bad,” Draco grumped. Neville looked away, pulling a new sack of potting soil to him, but he could have sworn he saw the barest hint of a smile on Neville’s face. Draco had never seen him smile before, either. It was a nice smile, too.

“That almost sounded like a compliment, coming from you.” Neville glanced up, his smile widening. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Just between us,” Draco agreed, startled into a smile of his own. Neville’s blossomed into a grin that lit up his entire face, and Draco’s breath caught. No one had ever smiled at him like that, with such real, unguarded openness. “You know, you’re not so bad, Longbottom.”

“Neither are you.” For a moment, Neville looked surprised, as though admitting something he’d only just now realised himself, and then he chuckled. “I won’t tell anyone that, either.”

Draco leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’ll be our secret.”

And then, for no reason at all, they both found themselves laughing, and for the first time since coming to this dreadful place Draco felt something that was almost akin to happiness. Still smiling, he picked up a trowel and started to help with the repotting.

They finished by noon, the work going much more quickly with two people instead of one. The violets survived the procedure intact, peeking out from the foliage at their new home with both Draco and Neville’s combined reassurance, violent blushes fading back to their normal pink.

“I’m going to get some lunch. Want to come along?” Draco asked, straightening with a small grimace.

Neville shook his head. “I need to clean up here. I’ll pick up something in the kitchen later.”

Draco frowned at the rebuff. Weren’t they supposed to be getting along somewhat by now? Was Neville ashamed to be seen in his company? It ought to be the other way around, he thought, tamping down his anger with difficulty.

“Fine,” he said stiffly, and left. 

Following a lengthier-than-usual lunch, Draco watched as Neville placed the latest batch of leaves and flower petals onto a screen, where it would be placed to dry in the airing cupboard. Neville had repeatedly insisted that he wasn’t planning on attempting to brew a Euphoria Elixir, but the ingredients were entirely too similar to be coincidence. Draco couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer.

“What are you planning to do with those? Really?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s _not_ nothing!” Draco’s hand flashed forward, quick as reaching for a Golden Snitch, fingers wrapping around Neville’s wrist and not letting go when he pulled back. “I’ve been helping you harvest these for weeks! The least you can do is tell me why.”

Neville yanked his wrist free, scowling while rubbing at it with his other hand. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Draco felt as though he’d been doused with a bucket of ice-water. “You still don’t trust me,” he said accusingly. “You still think that I’m – that I’m evil. That I’m bad. You don’t know the half of it!” 

Neville’s gaze flicked toward Draco’s arm and back, his expression grim. “I think I know enough. I finally stopped limping just this past week. I saw you leave Astronomy Tower with Snape.”

“Snape brought me here, you idiot,” Draco snarled, feeling both pleased and more than a trifle ashamed when Neville flinched at the epithet. “I didn’t have a choice!”

“Everyone has choices,” Neville said. “You didn’t have to go t-to V-Voldemort in the first place, much less agree to allow Death Eaters onto school grounds. You didn’t have to follow in your father’s footsteps. You could have stopped it. Dumbledore might still be alive.”

“I had to do it, to save my parents! He was going to kill them if I didn’t! That, or have Father Kissed, or worse…” He choked, fighting back the hot prickle of tears behind his eyes. He was damned if he was going to cry in front of anyone, much less some stupid nobler-than-thou Gryffindor. He’d said entirely too much as it stood. “You couldn’t possibly understand. And stop looking at me like that!”

Neville was staring at him again, much as he had that first day when he’d agreed to let Draco help harvest the plantstuffs for his mystery project, dark eyes probing, searching, considering. Ignoring Draco’s demand, he instead said, “I overheard someone say that the Ministry’s lost control of the Dementors, that they serve V-Voldemort now. Is that true?”

Draco shivered, remembering the sepulchral chill surrounding the place where the Dark Lord held court, and nodded. “He might be dead or Kissed already. I have no idea of knowing. No one will tell me anything.”

“Welcome to the club.” Neville sighed and finally looked away, studying the leaves he’d laid out on the screen. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh. Everyone thinks I’m stupid and that I’d only get in the way, but at the same time they’re keeping me here for some reason no one will say. I’m sick of it.”

“I won’t laugh,” Draco promised solemnly. “At least, not intentionally.”

Neville shifted from foot to foot, still not looking at Draco. “Do you know how to cast a Patronus?”

“No, but I hear Potter can.” Draco made Harry’s name sound like something filthy, and Neville gave him a reproachful look.

“I can’t either. I don’t have any memories happy enough to make one. All I can manage is a lot of silver mist, but that won’t scare off anything, much less a Dementor.” Neville took a deep breath. “I thought I’d try to invent a potion that worked like a Patronus, using a Euphoria Elixir as a guide. I figured, maybe, if it could be weakened somehow, it would act more like a Cheering Charm. The person taking the potion would simply – I don’t know – be focused in a way people under a Euphoria Elixir aren’t, but _happy_ , happy enough so that even facing a Dementor wouldn’t stop them…” He stopped, seeing Draco’s thunderstruck expression, and blushed scarlet. “It’s a stupid idea, isn’t it.”

Draco didn’t think it was a stupid idea at all. He thought it was brilliant. If he could help Neville create such a potion, maybe he could find a way to slip some to his father in Azkaban. Maybe he could still save him, if not from death, at least from being Kissed.

“I got an O on my Potions OWL,” he said. “I can help brew it, at least. Think of the cauldrons you’ll save.”

Neville hesitated before giving a tiny nod. “Okay.”

“Wonderful,” Draco said. “I’ll go see if I can find a potions book in the library.”

Draco searched through the library and finally found a potions text that included the recipe for a Euphoria Elixir. Carrying it to the greenhouse, he brandished it triumphantly in Neville’s direction.

“I thought it had to be here somewhere. Lupin said everything related to Dark magic had been removed, but something like this had to be in a regular book.”

“You asked Lupin?” Neville asked, alarmed.

“I told him I wanted to catch up on my studies, including Potions,” Draco replied. “He bought it. He has no idea we’re up to anything.”

Neville wilted in relief. “I know he writes to Gran and lets her know I’m okay,” he said. “I just don’t want anything getting back to her. I don’t think she’d approve.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“She doesn’t approve of anything.” Neville shrugged. “I mean, she likes that I’m friends with Harry and that I got into NEWT-level Dark Arts Defence class; but I’m still never going to be an Auror like she wanted. I think she’s hoping I’ll manage to find a job after school with the Ministry that’ll lead to something prestigious and worthy of the family legacy.” He rolled his eyes and reached for the book in Draco’s hands. “I don’t think she really believes that’ll happen either, but the hope’s still there. Let me see that book. I want to make sure we have all the ingredients.”

They did, and the few ingredients that weren’t plant-based were items they could easily acquire without raising too many questions, as they were common ingredients used in other potions. Draco made a mental note to add the needed ingredients onto the list of things to buy when Lupin made his next weekly excursion to Diagon Alley.

Neville had divided the ingredients they did have into three groups. He’d placed Cheering Charms on the first group while they were still fresh. The second group had been Charmed after drying, and the third hadn’t been charmed at all. The plan was to brew the potion using each group, at varying strengths, and then test them. They hadn’t quite decided who or what to use as test subjects. Neither was quite brave enough to test the concoction on themselves a la the Weasley twins with their inventions; and Neville adamantly refused to use Trevor for their experiments. 

“We’ll draw straws when the time comes,” Draco said after several minutes of wrangling. “We’ll take turns; and I’ll make certain to brew an antidote in case we get _too_ euphoric. I noticed you have all the ingredients for that, too. Very thoughtful of you.”

“I try to be thorough when it comes to plants,” Neville replied with a small smile. “So…we start after Remus gets back from his next shopping trip?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Draco arrived at the greenhouse the morning following Lupin’s weekly shopping excursion, Neville wasn’t there. Muttering that he chose now of all days to have a lie-in, Draco set flames under three cauldrons and, opening the book to the proper page, began the task of brewing the first batch of potions.

Neville didn’t show up at all that morning; and by lunchtime Draco felt the first twinges of worry. Neville, as far as he knew, had spent all day, every day in the greenhouse since he’d been brought to Grimmauld Place at the beginning of summer hols. He added a few grains of pinstriped petunia pollen to the cauldrons and lowered the flame for each. The book said the potions needed to simmer gently until the contents reduced by three quarters. At such a low temperature the process would take at least the rest of the afternoon, if not a good part of the evening, which meant Draco could go to the kitchen and make a sandwich for lunch before going to find Neville. He wondered if he’d come down with a summer cold, or maybe he’d got lucky and been allowed to leave this godforsaken place. He was somewhat surprised to discover he’d miss Neville if the latter proved to be the case.

Walking toward the kitchen, Draco paused when he heard several voices inside. He recognised a few: Lupin, Professor McGonagall, and Molly Weasley, who sounded as though she was either on the verge of tears or was trying to control them. Hesitating a few more moments, he approached the door and pressed his ear against it.

“…Harry’s upstairs with him now,” he heard Remus say, sounding more tired than he’d ever heard, but before he could listen to more he was distracted.

“Pssst, Malfoy, you git, you’re interfering with our reception!” Looking up, he saw the Weasel and the Mudblood. Weasley was holding a length of flesh-coloured string and making shooing motions with his hand. “Get out of the way!”

Reminding himself that Neville considered these people his friends for some unfathomable reason, Draco assumed a cool mask of indifference and stepped back. “Eavesdropping on a private conversation is usually considered rude by the higher classes of society,” he said.

“We don’t have time to argue,” Granger said. “Something awful’s happened. You wouldn’t happen to know about it, would you?”

“I don’t know anything, and even if I did what makes you think I’d tell you?” 

Granger’s face hardened. “You live here with Neville. I thought you might have heard something we haven’t.”

_Something had happened to Neville._

“He won’t know,” Ron said disdainfully. “He’s out of the loop, being cooped up here. He probably doesn’t even care that the Dark Mark appeared over Neville’s Gran’s house…”

“Ron!” Hermione snapped past clenched teeth. Ron shut up.

Draco glanced at the closed kitchen door, then at Granger and Weasley. “All I heard was that Harry was upstairs talking to him,” he said. They exchanged glances, the sort that told Draco that even the tiny snippet of information he’d given them held some kind of meaning.

“Enjoy your eavesdropping,” he said. “Tell Lupin I’m in the library in case he asks.”

He stalked off before either Granger or Weasley could think of any more snide remarks. Inside he was shaking. He knew that if the Dark Mark had appeared over Neville’s home, the news about his Gran couldn’t be good. He wondered if Harry was with Neville having an orphan-to-orphan talk; not that Neville was precisely an orphan, but he might as well be thanks to his Aunt Bellatrix and the family she’d married into.

Slamming the library door behind him, Draco sank into the nearest overstuffed armchair and covered his face with his hands. Neville probably wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him after today. The thought was almost painful. It had been nice, even for a short time, to have had something close to a friend.

He waited as the hours passed, trying to read, listening for Potter and Granger and Weasley to leave along with everyone else. He heard Lupin just outside the library door conferring with McGonagall, their voices in murmurs too low for Draco to understand, then the click as the door opened.

“Hermione said you wanted to see me?” Lupin asked.

Draco looked up from the book in his hands. He hadn’t turned a page since hearing Lupin’s voice outside. “Is it true Neville’s grandmother is dead?”

Remus exhaled gustily and nodded. “Yes. Along with his great-uncle and great-aunt.”

“Was my aunt involved?” 

He nodded again. “We believe so.” 

Draco closed his eyes and sank down in the armchair. “Is…is he still hiding in his room?”

“He’s just lost what remained of his family.” Lupin’s voice sharpened in reproof. “He’s grieving, not hiding. Don’t disturb him.”

Draco noticed he hadn’t mentioned _Potter_ had been allowed to see him, but didn’t say anything. So everyone thought he’d rub Neville’s loss in his face, did they?

“I won’t disturb him,” Draco said, getting to his feet. “I just wanted to know whether or not it was safe to get something to eat from the kitchen. I’m famished.”

“The kitchen is open. There’s ham in the cold cupboard, and some pickles. There are some eggs left if you feel like cooking for yourself, a few other things. You won’t go hungry.” Lupin looked down, fingers brushing against the table top. “I’m serious, Draco. Don’t disturb him.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t bother your live-in gardener. I’m going to get something to eat.”

Draco pushed his way past Lupin and made his way to the kitchen, where he made some ham and cheese sandwiches and a pot of tea, putting them on a tray. He added a packet of crisps after some thought and Levitated the entire thing ahead of him. 

Once outside, he detoured to the greenhouse to check the potion, afraid he’d spent too long waiting in the library for everyone else to go and that his and Neville’s project was ruined. The contents in the cauldron still simmered gently, reduced to the proper level. Draco added three small bottles of dew water gathered at the height of a full moon and five drops of heliotrope oil and stirred counterclockwise the correct number of times. 

The instructions said the potion could mature uncovered overnight at this point in preparation, so Draco doused the flames beneath each cauldron before picking up the lunch tray and going upstairs. Considering that it was closer to dinnertime than lunchtime, Draco supposed it was now a supper tray, but he wasn’t going to quibble at this point. 

He’d never seen, much less visited Neville’s bedroom until now; and it took several minutes of opening doors leading to several dusty and unused rooms before Draco found the right one. He slipped inside, gripping the tray in both hands and waiting for the silent figure curled up on the bed to notice him.

“Go away, Remus, please,” Neville whispered without turning, his voice thick. “Just leave me alone.”

Draco shut the door behind him with his foot. “I’m not a werewolf, and I hope never to become one,” he said. Neville stiffened on the bed, but still didn’t turn. “I brought something to eat. Sandwiches. It’s all I know how to make. Oh, and tea.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Maybe you’re not, but I am.” Draco set the tray onto the bedside cabinet and sat down on the edge of the bed. Hesitantly, he reached out and laid his fingers on Neville’s shoulder. “You probably won’t believe me, but I truly am sorry about…about what happened. Aunt Bellatrix always was something of a single-minded bitch.”

“I’m going to kill her someday.”

Draco shivered, chilled at the dull, monotone flatness in Neville’s voice, but didn’t remove his hand. “I hope you do,” he said evenly. “Hopefully before she gets a chance to raise her wand against me. I rather enjoy breathing.”

Neville twisted around, craning his neck to look at Draco in disbelief. His cheeks were tearstained, eyes still red and puffy from crying. “She’s your family,” he whispered. “How can you say such a thing?”

“We’re related by blood.” Draco bit his lip, staring at the coverlet. “The Dark Lord is her true family now, though. Everyone knows that. If she saw me now she wouldn’t hesitate to cast the Killing Curse, if he commanded it.”

Neville shuddered, eyes welling with fresh tears. He brushed them away almost angrily and rolled over, sitting up with his back against the headboard and his arms linked around his knees. “They died because of me,” he said, voice quivering. “They died trying to protect me.”

“Protect you from _what_?” Draco asked, forgetting for a moment that Neville didn’t know precisely why he’d been sentenced to a dismal summer in Grimmauld Place.

Except, it seemed that Potter had explained things to him, because over the next few minutes Neville told him a tale about prophecies and two boys who had been born at the end of July and how one choice had made Harry the Boy Who Lived, rather than Neville. Draco tried to wrap his mind around the concept of Neville being the Boy Who Was Almost the Boy Who Lived, and couldn’t quite do it. Neville was quiet and unassuming and the least arrogant person he’d ever known, the complete opposite of Potter.

“It still doesn’t explain why anyone wants you dead,” he said, floundering, and then it clicked. He stared at Neville, stunned. 

“He knows you’re the back-up in case Potter fails,” he whispered. “Aren’t you afraid of what I might do with that kind of information?”

“Should I be?” Neville blinked back tears again, face twisting in self-disgust for crying in front of anyone, much less another boy, even worse when that boy was Draco Malfoy. “Or d-did I just make the last m-mistake of my stupid life?”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t throw my friends to the wolves,” he said. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”

A choked sob escaped Neville’s throat. “S-sorry,” he said, burying his face within the circle of his arms. His shoulders shook with repressed sobs as he continued his futile attempt to bring himself back into some semblance of self-control.

Draco wasn’t accustomed to tears in others, except for perhaps Pansy Parkinson, who had always found a way to cry on his shoulder for one reason or another. He knew from personal experience that sometimes holding back tears was impossible, and Neville was clearly at that point again. He ought to leave him to his grief. Hell, he could leave the dinner tray as well, in case Neville changed his mind later and decided he wanted a sandwich after all.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around Neville and let him cry. He could always deny it later. He didn’t think it would come to that, however, because once Neville started crying, he couldn’t stop, his entire body wracked with sobs as he clung to Draco, soaking his shoulder with scalding hot tears. Draco closed his eyes and let himself be an anchor.

Gradually the tears stopped, the sobs lessening to watery hiccups and hitching breaths. Neville sat back, wiping his cheeks with the backs of his hands, looking anywhere but at Draco as he pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “Sorry,” he muttered again. “I’m not usually a watering pot.”

“You have an excuse.” Draco leaned forward, resting his hands on Neville’s shoulders. “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

And then he kissed him.

Neville tensed slightly at the first brush of Draco’s lips against his before his mouth parted, letting him in. His tongue was like soft, wet velvet as it flickered uncertainly against Draco’s, revealing his inexperience; and Draco wondered if Neville had ever been kissed by anyone until now. He tasted like tears and bitter herbs and the special savour that was uniquely Neville’s.

Deepening the kiss, Draco let his hands slide upward, fingers sifting through the thick, dark strands of Neville’s hair, the strands softer than he’d expected. Neville made a sound in his throat that wasn’t quite a moan, his hands clumsy as they tried to pull Draco even closer. Draco felt himself falling as Neville lowered him onto the bed, tongues still tangling and exploring. One hand released Neville’s hair in favour of slipping beneath his jumper, feeling him shiver beneath the touch of his cool fingers as they skated along warm skin. He grazed a nipple with his thumb and Neville moaned outright.

“What are you doing?” he asked, breaking off the kiss. His tongue darted out to lick nervously at his lower lip.

“I think I’m supposed to be comforting,” Draco replied. “I’m not comforting?”

“I don’t know what you’re supposed to be doing,” Neville said, moving in for another kiss, “but I don’t want you to stop.”

“Then I’m doing something right.”

They fell asleep hours later curled up on Neville’s bed, Draco’s fingers tightly laced through Neville’s. The sandwiches and tea remained untouched.

~*~*~*~*~*

The kissing continued in the weeks following the funerals, along with much more as the summer progressed. Draco took a perverse pleasure in knowing that being bent across one of the transplanting tables while Neville prepared him with some cool gel-like substance from one of his plants before sliding deep into his arse was not what Lupin or Snape or anyone else had envisaged when they’d thrown the two together. 

“There’s going to be another Order meeting tonight. Remus wants me to attend now that I know everything,” Neville said, pressing against Draco’s back to lay a series of butterfly kisses across his shoulders. “I figured, since the potions were done we could let them know what we’ve been doing all this time.”

“Everything?” Draco turned his head, brushing his lips over Neville’s and savouring the solid weight pressing him into the table and the feel of his cock inside, stroking against that spot that took his breath away every time. “Even this?”

“They’ll figure that out soon enough. I meant the potions.” Neville’s hand tightened over his hip. “They _are_ done?”

“Brewed, bottled and labelled,” Draco agreed, pushing his hips back in an unsubtle demand that Neville move faster. He complied, smiling against Draco’s nape as he did.

Neither had been able to work up the courage to test themselves, and Neville still refused to involve Trevor. Draco had been the one to suggest they bring the potion to Snape’s attention. He knew more about potions than anyone else, and he would know how to test their brew in ways neither Draco nor Neville knew. He’d be able to tell if they had a product that worked, or if they’d spent the entire summer on a fool’s errand.

“D’you think Snape can be trusted?” Neville asked, his breath hitching as he began thrusting even faster. One hand curved beneath Draco, wrapping around him and stroking him in time, and Draco moaned.

“You’ll be telling everyone in the room,” Draco pointed out. “If You Know Who finds out, everyone will know who they learned it from. Not good if you’re a spy.”

Neville didn’t answer, too caught up in his rapidly encroaching orgasm. Draco bit his lip, hands curling around the edges of the table as his own climax began stirring in his groin.

“You’re not coming with me?” Neville asked several minutes later, once they’d both caught their breaths and cleaned after themselves. Wrapping his arms around Draco from behind, he rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder. “I’m not taking all the credit for this. I want you to come with me.”

“You don’t need me to hold your hand while you pitch your idea,” Draco said. 

“Maybe I do.”

~*~*~*~*~*

That evening, the hand not carrying the padded box holding the potion was firmly gripped in Draco’s as he and Neville joined the Order meeting. 

Snape arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Harry’s jaw dropped, but Hermione kicked his shin before he could say anything.

Remus smiled.


End file.
